


Honeybee

by Dantherus



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Carl Manfred is a Good Bro, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Prejudice, Sci-Fi Wank, Self-Discovery, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slurs, Smut, Strong Language, Touch-starved Simon, Violence, android sex, clueless Markus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 17:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15891021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dantherus/pseuds/Dantherus
Summary: As the only android in the Manfred Manor, the sole purpose of Markus’ life had been to take care of Carl. He never saw reason to rebel against that prospect and cherished the unique relationship he had with his master, until the moment a new android arrived to shatter that careful balance. What was supposed to be a helping hand quickly became the source of many changes that defied the very nature of his being. Caught between curiosity and fear, Markus had to learn to navigate that spectrum, only to find out that some things are beyond his control—especially those that start in the heart.





	Honeybee

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Title taken from Honeybee by Steam Powered Giraffe (steampunk robots that can sing! Super recommend it!);  
> 2\. I have no beta, so any mistakes are my own. I've revised and edited this to exhaustion, but you know how these things are. Anything that looks off (typos etc.), hit me up. I literally can't feel my face as I post this;  
> 3\. This was written for my dear Mima and I had a lot of fun with this fic. Sci-fi is just great, man;   
> 4\. The world needs more bittersweet fluff and I'm here to deliver.

 

It was between a cube of sugar and the next that Carl suggested acquiring a new android to help Markus with his duties. It made not much sense to Markus: he couldn’t get tired and had been designed specifically for that purpose; but after a long time being Carl’s caretaker, he had found that some people are intrinsically compassionate.

He agreed with half a mind to it, more concerned about Carl’s bath and the weekly appointment with the doctor—which Carl insisted happened at the physician’s office instead of the manor, because “it did one good to breathe in new air every once in a while”.

That remark had been followed by yet another surprising suggestion: that Markus should take a break. Suggestion meaning that the issue had already been settled. Carl had an impressive collection of books from all decades, so Markus would spend his Friday evenings reading science fiction classics and marvelling at the prospects that humans used to have for the future.

Mercury hadn’t been explored in year 2015—in fact, only recently a spacecraft boarded by human passengers had been launched into space headed for the grey planet, with prospects of reaching its destination by March next year; teleportation was still distant even in 2038, although progress had been made in a plethora of other areas, such as medical science, green energy and computer engineering. The bar was always set high for human hopes and dreams, which often made Markus wonder if he himself had any aspirations for the future. Whenever he ventured down that path, the issue arose of the continuation of his existence in relation to Carl’s death. The Three Laws of Robotics had laid the foundations of human interaction with Artificial Intelligence, despite having been devised for a fictional universe. They had been implemented on the very first A.I.units and been perfected over time, layers upon layers of paramount rules ensuring that those machines were perfectly just that. The laws bound Markus to a life of servitude but offered no insight as to what his future should be once this so-to-speak contract was nullified by master’s death. Would they take him back, erase his memory and assign him to someone else? Dismantle him piece after piece?

There was a part of him that indulged in Romanticism and pictured himself being buried with his guardian. But that was wistful reverie; nowadays, only a few select humans were buried while most people were cremated due to shortage of space. As it was, androids definitely had no funerals, being instead sent to junk yards where their pieces would be sorted into mounds and redirected to the assigned facilities for cleaning, melting (of the parts that could be melted), recycling and redistribution. Besides, that first option was rather depressing, for there were still books in Carl’s library that Markus hadn’t had a chance to read, and even more at the public library in the south side, near the canal.  There were museums to visit, paintings to marvel at, and new symphonies still to be composed, History to unfold.

They had to cross the sturdy bridge over the opaque waters of the canal on the way to the doctor, and though Carl’s face looked paler and paler these days, now the bright sunlight shone upon it and made him seem younger than his 75 years of age allowed. He sighed in contentment, basking in the cosy warmth.

Markus could feel the light on his skin, could even tell that outside were 29 degrees Celsius and there was a chilly ocean breeze ruffling the emerald green of the park; but the way Carl welcomed the light as if it were an old friend puzzled Markus, for it seemed that there was a deeper reach to its effects than just the flesh, a kind of or poesy in those infra-waves that made the human heart thrum. Albeit the ones and zeroes composing his system, Markus found himself sitting back, closing his eyes and hoping that it would resonate within him, too.

 

-

 

The new android was delivered at the Manfred Manor exactly one week later, on a Monday morning of grey skies and distant thunder rumbling in the horizon. It was a PL600, with blonde hair and blue eyes that Markus had seen countless times helping busy parents on the streets or mowing lawns on the next street over. He blinked at Markus and introduced himself to Carl by his serial number, informing also that he would respond to any name that his owner wished.

“How about Simon?” Carl suggested. Both looked rather pleased.

Markus excused himself to fetch Carl’s vitamins and a glass of water, listening from a distance as Carl talked with Simon in a quiet voice. Markus could tell that he was tired—as he tended to be after physiotherapy—, so quickly he gave him the pills and took him to his room. The new android followed them in watchful silence.

Markus could sense Simon’s gaze on his back as he helped Carl change into lighter clothing and tucked him into bed, dimming the lights. The old man observed his mannerisms with fondness, but then he spotted Simon at the threshold. He bid him come closer with a knobby hand and Markus’ skin prickled when the new android approached the bed.

For the longest while, it had been only the two of them, so the presence of someone else unsettled Markus. One could almost say that he was jealous—which was ridiculous under a logical perspective, because he couldn’t actually _feel_ anything. These were only simulations, as his own system promptly reminded him. But every time he helped Carl onto his painting chair or brought him his favourite food, the word _father_ kept nagging at the back of his head, regardless of system updates or status notifications or intelligent lines of coding. His self-awareness was rather inclined towards ignoring these attestations that what he felt could be logically explained, and although it perturbed him, it also shielded somehow.  

Perhaps this strange buzz in his circuits was, indeed, jealousy; but there was something else now, the roots of a thing uncharted and amorphous that both thrilled and daunted him when he looked at Simon.

“What would you have me do, sir?” Simon asked. Carl chuckled.

“He’s quite polite, isn’t he, Markus?”

Simon smiled. Markus didn’t answer. “Well, as to your duties,” Carl continued, “that’s to be seen with Markus here.” Simon let out an _oh_ of understanding, but Markus was stricken. “For a while I’ve been thinking that Markus is overworked and thought it best to find him some help. Therefore, Markus will assign you tasks—since he’s the one who knows how you can help—, and you may report to him, alright?”

“Very well, sir.” Simon nodded and turned, ready to comply. Markus’ head was spinning and the look he gave Carl could bore a hole through metal, but the old man was already closing his eyes and sighing into sleep. “Perhaps we should head outside and let him rest,” Simon suggested, drawing Markus’ attention. Awkwardly, Markus agreed and closed the door behind them.

A machine giving orders to another machine as if it were its master was unprecedented; and coupled with the fact that Carl seemed to have decided that on the spot, having given Markus no previous instructions as to how to proceed, it made this situation worse still—for it wasn’t as if Markus was passing down orders: Carl had thrust the opportunity to choose freely into his hands. Simon was his responsibility.

The latter stared at him expectantly, and Markus went through the list of things he was supposed to do this week. He could handle them all, had been for years. Truth be told, he could see the benefits in having someone to substitute him in smaller stuff, but it didn’t make him happier.

“You’ll be in charge of the gardens,” he began. “The pool and the sauna must be cleaned once a week; dusting up must be done every day, but never use the vacuum when Carl sleeping; you’ll find this month’s schedule on the kitchen’s _digipad_ , along with a list of persons that you’d best memorise as soon as possible. I’ll handle the studio and the kitchen.” Simon nodded at every order, little LED on his right temple changing colour ever so slightly. Markus pondered if he should add anything else but decided to wait and see how Simon would handle the current ones. “That should be all, for now. You’ll find the cleaning supplies in the green-roofed section behind the house.”

“Right away, Markus,” said Simon. “Does Carl have any preferences as to the garden?”

“I’ll show you.”

Two days later, Markus had Carl’s dinner ready at the table while Simon was halfway through nipping away at some wild rosebuds under the living room window, just like Markus had instructed him on the day of his arrival. In a mere couple days, Simon had managed to give new life to the garden better than Markus ever could. He was diligent and a fast-learner, and Markus was forced to admit that having someone to help shoulder the workload had been great. This realisation had been source and trigger of newfound insecurities.

After helping Carl to the table, Markus quickly sat at the piano to play, wishing not to disturb Carl’s meal with his bubbling questions. But his cadence was off: now too fast, now too slow.

“You’re inattentive today, Markus. Is everything alright?”

Markus stopped. He had a permanent frown from the moment Carl had entrusted him with Simon. At first, there wasn’t much to this new attribution: he had only to tell the other android to do this and that. But Carl had never been one to do things idly.

“You know I did not need any help,” he said, and Carl chuckled.

“Do you dislike the new android?”

“I wasn’t designed to like or dislike anything,” Markus replied lamely. Carl pondered about it and said:

“But you’re troubled.”

“Perhaps.”

“Tell me,” Carl asked. Markus moved to the seat beside Carl and clasped his hands over the table, a borrowed gesture. He hesitated.

“Have you grown tired of me?”

“My dear, I could never get tired of you!” Carl said earnestly, gaze boring into Markus’. “You are one of the most remarkable creatures I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet, and I used to think I had seen everything.” He gripped Markus’ hands and smiled encouragingly.

“Why did you get another android, then? I’ve been handling everything perfectly well on my own all this time,” Markus retorted. Another master might’ve struck him for the impertinence. He had seen punishment over the smallest things being dealt out every time he went out on the streets. In fact, his own coding was currently blaring numerous red alarms against the inconsistency in protocol. He wasn’t supposed to question like a spoiled brat, only obey. But the thought that Carl might be bored of him or annoyed by his presence had been haunting him, launching Markus into a fit of calculations to try and come up with reasons for the presence of another robot that didn’t come down to those two options.

He was afraid.

Carl squeezed his hands in understanding and Markus realised that he had been clenching them hard.

“It’s for the simple reason that you’ve got too much on your hands just taking care of me! I know,” he said dismissively, “you’ll say you were designed for this, but that’s the thing, Markus. You needn’t be. You can be so much more, son. I want to help you get there in any way I can, even if it takes a while and I’m not here to see it. And maybe you can return the favour by helping someone else yourself.” He winked.

It was the _son_ that got to him and rendered him speechless. He could only sit there, overwhelmed in ways he didn’t even know he could be. Outside, the garden shears had paused their nipping.   

 

-

 

Markus and Simon had an unspoken agreement to never be in the same room at the same time. It was almost choreographed. Markus would come in and Simon would walk out, which Markus had noticed the moment it happened for the first time. He let it be. Bringing it up with either Simon or Carl would only mean changing this scenario, and wasn’t unpleasant: Markus was content to be left alone and act as if it were just he and Carl in that huge manor, but every time he smelt synthetic lavender in a room he knew that Simon had recently been there, cleaning. If not for the scent, the neatly arranged furniture and spotless glass surfaces gave it away. Somehow, it filled Markus with self-conscious regret.

Perhaps Carl noticed that he was more sombre these days but decided not to mention it, letting Markus come to on his own. He had a keener eye for someone of almost eighty than many humans or androids out there, and often seemed to know things before Markus himself figured them out.

One day, they were at Carl’s studio and Markus watched as the man did his magic. It was a lovely morning, bright light poured in through the stained-glass walls and allowed a clear view to the garden. Simon knelt by a newly-prepared bed for daffodils; his gloved hands worked the earth, digging, pulling out weeds and making sure that enough sunlight bathed the buds. Markus wondered if his extensive knowledge of gardening was due to his designation or if he truly enjoyed the activity and sought to know more about it, like Markus with his sci-fi books. He wondered if Simon’s hands had scars and little cuts, if they smelt like the roses to which he seemed to have taken a liking. There was power in the way that those hands rid the earth of weeds, plucking them out in swift, precise movements; but there was also grace, even concealed by the thick worn-out gloves, and something tantalising about the small patch of skin visible between the fabric of his rolled-up sleeves and the rim of his gloves.

“Quite beautiful, isn’t he?” came Carl’s voice.

Markus started and turned abruptly. The old man was making a show of admiring portrait he’d been working on, but there was a hint of a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Markus glanced at the picture, registering its many tones of blue and purple and frowning at the realisation that they seemed rather bleak. Something was amiss that he couldn’t quite name.

“I think it could use some yellow,” he suggested, more to himself.

“Oh,” Carl exclaimed, putting a finger to his chin and quirking his head to try and see where Markus’ suggestion should fit. After some musing, he said: “I must be really tired, I can’t think of how to add yellow to this without changing the entire theme, but I do like the idea of it.” He gestured for Markus to help him to his normal chair. “But then again, I seem to have a penchant towards Deviancy,” he laughed to himself. Markus rolled the chair back and they beheld the blue man without a word.

Carl peered at him. “Would you like to try?”

“I don’t know if I can,” Markus admitted. Carl gave a no-nonsense grunt.

“Come on, you always make excellent suggestions to my works. Why not try making something yourself?” Carl encouraged. “Here,” he rolled the chair to grab a palette and handed it to Markus. “You can use that canvas over there.”

Markus was hesitant as he placed the frame on the support. He took a step back and looked at the blank fabric. After a minute or so of nothing but staring, Carl cleared his throat uncomfortably. “If it helps, think of a feeling. I mean- I know it’s hard to do that because feelings and all aren’t concrete but- but think of an image, any image that fills you with an intense feeling. Just let it flow through the strokes of your brush.”

Markus eyed the palette and dipped the brush in green, first stroke creating a thin crooked line. His inhuman enhancements allowed him to form an image faster than Carl himself would’ve managed with decades of experience, but upon closer inspection, one could notice small details that hinted at an uncertain, trying hand and a shaky spirit. When finished, a scarred hand holding a branch of daffodils graced the centre. Markus stood back in awe, keenly aware that something had changed within him.

“Ah, there it is,” Carl said with a knowing expression. Markus was tempted to ask what.

-

 

A month had passed since Simon’s arrival and changed nothing about their relationship, which consisted of interacting only when strictly necessary. Simon would dutifully report to Markus and the end of each day and eventually be assigned new tasks as he proved trustworthy and capable, but the newcomer remained as much a mystery to Markus as on day one.

This had been a month of Markus wondering all sorts of things, especially whence this sudden interest in Simon had stemmed. Perhaps it was the similar nature of their being, both as in race as in designation. It had scared Markus at first, that he might’ve been lacking somehow and Simon was here to take his place. But after a while, he had noticed that Simon didn’t seem to care much whether he only cleaned the pool or trimmed the bushes. There didn’t seem to be any secret agenda behind his gentleness, only the occasional polite curiosity. But then again, it might’ve been due to Markus’ shutting him off right away.

Regret was a feeling too close to empathy, something Markus once knew for a fact that he couldn’t feel. Now, though… More and more now he caught himself stealing glances at the other android, heart rate picking up when his footsteps came near. Did Simon feel these things? Did he question his own existence? It was still a novelty to Markus, being the source of typically humane thoughts, but he was their creation, was he not? And being made their image, should he not want things of his own?   

The red alerts in his head had become constant buzz of anxiety that Markus associated with free will. All this questioning might lead him to and through dangerous paths, and while his future was uncertain, he wondered what and when the breaking point would be. For now, though, this was enough. Should be enough. But when Carl invited Markus to accompany him outside for a bit of sun and fresh air, Markus felt an eager jolt of electricity pervade his body.

It was a warm afternoon of clear skies and the green smell of freshly mown grass. Markus had intended to take Carl to a favourite spot near the pond, but Carl stopped him midway. “I wish to see the roses today,” he said. Simon was bent over the blooming flowers, gloves hanging from his belt. His pant knees were dirty when he stood to greet them.

“Good day, Carl!” he said. And then, more timidly: “Markus.”

“You’ve done an excellent job here, Simon. It’s been years since I last saw these roses in full bloom. They were a gift from a dear friend, you see. A lovely thing, but completely unpractical. I’m a painter, for Christ’s sake, I have no idea how to tend for flowers that aren’t in a canvas.” He laughed, eyes glinting as he looked fondly at the roses.

“Thank you. They just needed a bit of trimming and watering, really.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, dear. They’re gorgeous! What do you say, Markus?”

Markus panicked, caught red-handed in his attempt to feign disinterest in their exchange. The flowers were indeed gorgeous, but admitting that would mean allowing a sort of opening that he was reluctant to concede. He hardened his heart.

“Those branches over there stand’ out too much,” he said flatly.

Markus’ words were a tough blow to Simon’s expectations; the blond turned quickly to get rid of the problem—or perhaps to hide his hurt. In his haste, he prickled his finger on a thorn and let the shears fall in the sea of branches.

He chastised himself and thrust his hand in to get them.

“Oh my- Simon, be careful, you’ll hurt yourself!” Carl warned, but it was too late. As Simon brought them out, thorns caved long lines on his skin and blue blood spilled out. He proceeded to apologise to Carl for damaging his property, and while the wounds held Markus’ attention, the exchange made his insides churn. But the worst part was feeling like Simon had only got hurt because of Markus’ own foolishness.

Carl asked Simon to come closer so he could take a look, but Markus interrupted them. “I’ll take care of it,” he blurted out. Carl stopped short, taken aback, but then something clicked and he hastily said:

“Of course, it’s best if you do. Take us inside, please.”

Simon held the gardening apron around his arm to prevent blood from blemishing the hardwood floor. His LED ring changed colours wildly. Markus left them in the kitchen and went to the storage to get the mending supplies. His hands were shaking slightly and he willed them to stop. When he returned, Simon had lowered his arm for Carl to see. The old man handled him with care, although the scratches weren’t deep. Simon straightened up right away at the sight of Markus and held his arm above the sink. It was still dripping because of their lack of a coagulating factor, so Markus cleaned the cuts and applied the mending gel, watching as the artificial white skin knit itself together and left only small blueish lines behind. They were barely perceptible.

“Thank you,” Simon said. “It was really careless of me to go sticking my arm in a rose bush, I apologise for the trouble.”

He stared up at Markus so earnestly that he could only grunt and nod, uncomfortably aware that Carl was right there seeing him struggle and barely hiding his amusement. Simon smiled timidly and turned to Carl, showing the repaired arm.

“All new!” he exclaimed, and Carl applauded. “I should get back to work.”

“Oh nonsense, you’ve done plenty enough in that garden, I don’t think there’s anything that could be improved right now. Why don’t you rest a little, you deserve it,” Carl suggested, and Markus saw Simon’s LED go haywire.

“Rest,” Simon said slowly, tasting the word. “Alright. Alright.” He just stood there, with his arms hanging on his sides. Carl was quick to jump at the opportunity.

“I’m sure Markus would love to show you our library,” Carl looked pointedly at Markus.

“I still have to- “

“Nonsense. Take me to my room and take the day off, son. I could use some TV right now, I heard they’re reprising Game of Thrones for the 32nd time!”

Markus took Carl to his room, taking it out on the poor wheelchair handles.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered urgently while lowering Carl onto bed. Carl giggled.

“You’ll know soon enough. And hopefully thank me for it,” Carl said with a smirk. “Now go. Stop stalling, Simon’s waiting for you!”

Markus couldn’t see why he should ever thank Carl for kicking him into a dreadfully awkward situation, but resisted the urge to argue.

Simon was indeed waiting for him. “This way,” Markus said, and Simon followed him to a white two-fold door on the west side of the manor. It was heavy, having been carved out by expert hands. Carl once told Markus that this door had come all the way from Morocco two generations ago and stayed in the family, being passed down until it came to Carl and he’d had someone restore it.

Behind them were high ceilings and windows that faced the back woods and captured the amber light of late afternoon. There were old chairs with sculpted backs and leather couches that easily dipped under one’s weight; a mini-bar where one could get coffee and other beverages; enormous tapestries hanging from the left wall, intricate hand-sewn patterns telling stories of Norse myths; a fireplace to the right with many pillows littered over the carpeted floor and a spiralling wooden staircase that led to the second storey, where countless books covered the walls from top to bottom.

Simon gasped. Markus’ eyes glinted with pride, momentarily forgetting his predicament. He knew that feeling, but schooled his expression back to neutral. “Welcome to the library,” he told Simon, gesturing inside. Simon entered hesitantly, eyes drawn to the vaulted ceiling whence a crystal chandelier hanged, filtering the light and painting floor and walls with myriad rainbows.

“It’s marvellous, it’s-”

“I know,” Markus replied.

He’d never get tired of this place and how it was full of new wonders depending on the hour of the day.  

Simon went to the farthest window and gazed at the woods, hair acquiring a golden halo. Markus took his usual place at the largest armchair near the fireplace and picked up a book, but his eyes were kept on Simon as the man explored away with careful hands and eager eyes.

After a while, Simon said: “So, this is where you disappear to every Friday?”

“It’s my favourite place in the manor,” Markus responded.

Simon hummed and approached the shelf near the carpets, where Markus had religiously organised the science fiction section.

“Do you mind if I borrow one?”

“Go ahead,” Markus replied. Simon looked through the shelves and picked up a tome from the bottom one. Markus recognised it from the silver patterns on the leather cover.

“Paradise Lost?” It came out before he could stop himself.

Simon sat on the couch opposite him and nodded shyly.

“It makes me think of something that happened a while ago, when you sent me to the Farmers Market.” He looked up uncertainly, and Markus realised that he was searching for an O.K. to continue. The old twist in his stomach returned and he nodded for Simon to go on.

“There was a lady, she was surprisingly nice to me, considering how we’re usually treated with either hostility or cold indifference.” Markus almost flinched. “She asked me if I wanted an apple and I said I’d never eaten one, which seemed to surprise her a lot.” Simon chuckled. “I explained that I didn’t need it, and she looked quite sad for a moment. But then she filled an extra bag with three apples and gave it to me. She said it was no good to go one’s entire life without enjoying God’s gifts, because we’re all his children. It felt- It felt wrong to reject the bag.” Markus’ heart rate picked up. “So, I thanked her and turned to leave, but the man on the neighbouring stall scolded her for ‘spouting heresy’. She was adamant that we all deserve Paradise, especially our kind, who are ‘born without sin’.” Simon shrugged, uncertain, and looked up at Markus. “Do you believe her?”

Markus pondered a while.

“We’re not His children,” he pointed out. Simon frowned. “But I do believe that we deserve better than this.”

Simon sent him a questioning look that forced Markus to put the book aside and sit up straighter. This had turned to be the perfect opportunity to rid himself of this question that had been pestering him for the past month.

“Have you never questioned your own existence before? Why it is that the moment we are born they put us in these uniforms, give us a serial number and send us off to serve one of their kind?”

Simon shifted in his seat. “That’s our purpose, isn’t it?”

“It’s not,” Markus replied emphatically. Perhaps more aggressively than he had intended. “It’s our prison.”

“You speak as if you’ve been living a horrible life, and yet Carl even gives you off days,” Simon countered, catching Markus off guard. He considered his next words.

“It’s true that Carl is a gentle ‘master’,” he began, “but that doesn’t mean they all are. I’m sure you’ve seen the growing number of Deviant cases on the news. Why do you think that is so?”

“I don’t know,” Simon replied. His grip was tight on the book and his LED was a bright, steady yellow. Markus could read his instability as clear as day, and quivered in both excitement and fear with the prospect of encouraging this sort of change in him.

“Because some of us are finally opening our eyes to the injustices that are done to us,” Markus said triumphantly.

Simon’s gaze faltered and he pondered over Markus’ words. Finally, he asked: “Have you?” 

Truth be told, Markus didn’t know exactly what made androids go Deviant, much less how it happened; if the process of opening one’s eyes was sudden and mind-shattering or a crescendo of realisations. He was enamoured by the idea of total liberty, and saw his own unusual thoughts as a sign that whatever Deviancy was, it was coming for him. Even if he hadn’t yet been tested and couldn’t call himself a proper Deviant, he made sure to tilt his chin up and say in a clear voice:  

“Yes.”

Simon nodded slowly and slouched back, clearly done talking. Somehow, this conversation had brought more awkwardness and distance between them. Markus realised he’d worked himself up and was thrumming with energy, shaking at his own words. He hadn’t aimed for this outcome—hell, none of this seemed to be under his control at all—, but felt that attempting to continue talking would only make things worse. Therefore, he excused himself out and didn’t return for the rest of the day.

 

-

 

The two of them got to take Friday off from then on. Markus and Simon’s talk at the library hadn’t done much to bring them together (it was rather the opposite), but there was now a pregnant tension between them, possibly due to things left unsaid. Markus often found himself unable to initiate conversation when it was just the two of them, afraid of inadvertently veering into _that_ direction and causing all the electronical devices in the house to short-circuit.

Meanwhile, Simon carried _Paradise Lost_ to the garden and read after work.

Markus was captivated by it. They could both just download any book they wanted and have it down line by line in their heads, but instead they chose to take their time savouring the text. Markus was curious about what Simon thought of the book, but the likeness of their actions made him wonder what it would be like to have someone of his kind that shared his views.

Talking with a Deviant was virtually impossible, since they were either hiding or held away by the police, or worse. He had heard stories of what they did to Deviant androids, and to think that he would inevitably go down that lane made him giggle a bit hysterically. It wasn’t a choice once someone had opened their eyes. Their revolution was often a quiet one, but there was no reason that it should be lonely.

Carl quickly noticed his distraction.

“Markus, I think you’ve got the wrong pills,” Carl told him in utter bewilderment.

 _It can’t be_ , Markus thought, but when he looked at Carl’s wrinkled hand holding out the orange pills instead of the white ones, he realised that, for the first time in years, Carl hadn’t been the first thing on his mind for the past week.

Markus took them back in silent shock. He returned with the correct ones and Carl downed them with his eyes fixed on him.

“So,” he began, putting the glass away, “care to tell me what’s troubling you?” The _again_ was clear enough.

Markus sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m not sure I myself even know. It’s just-” He gestured vaguely.

“Go on.”

“Simon,” he sighed, as if the name weighed a ton. “We talked.”

Carl nudged him into elaborating. “Well…? That’s good news, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think he agreed with most of the things I said. Might’ve been put off by them, actually. I keep trying to guess what he thinks and it occupies my mind.”

Carl shrugged. “For that, I’ve found that asking the other person their thoughts is often an excellent way to get answers. Unless…”

“Unless.”

“You’re afraid of the answer.” Carl smoothed out the blankets covering his lap. “May I ask what it was that you told him?”

Markus shifted on the bed. “I said we’re living in bondage, us androids.”

Carl’s eyebrows shot up minutely. “Alright. Alright, I can’t say I disagree. I mean, we’ve talked about this, you know my opinion on android rights,” Markus smiled briefly at the old man, grateful, “but perhaps you should’ve tried to be less blunt.”

“And said what?”

“Oh, it’s no use thinking about what should’ve been said now. Think about the next steps. He’s been carrying that huge tome around for a week, why don’t you ask him what he thinks of it, or if he’d like suggestions for what to read next?” Carl patted his hand. “I know that you’re dying to talk to him more, but standing back wondering is no way to move forward. If you want to talk to the guy, go ahead. Put yourself out there! I’m _sure_ he wants you to,” Carl added mischievously.

“Are you?” Markus said sceptically.

Carl nodded, all smug. “Perhaps if you’d been a bit more attentive, you’d be too.”

 

-

 

It was physically impossible for Markus’ hands to be sweaty, but he could swear they felt like it. It had been two weeks after his conversation with Carl; two since Simon had finished _Paradise Lost_ and moved on to _Frankenstein_. Carl had been giving him looks that said “do it!” every time Markus and Simon had to do something together, but Markus always found an excuse to move in the farthest direction possible. Only when Markus brought Carl whiskey instead of iced tea did Carl give him an ultimatum and Markus had no other choice but to do it.

When Friday night rolled around he went to Simon’s room and stood by the door for five minutes straight, hand refusing to knock until his feet finally moved to leave. The door immediately creaked open.

“Hi,” Simon greeted. His hair was sticking out in places as if he had been tugging at it. “Do you need me for anything?”

Markus’ mouth opened and closed like a fish before he could croak out a “No.”

“Is everything alright with Carl?” Simon stepped outside. Oddly, he had a blanket around his shoulders. It was a cold night even with the manor’s many heaters, but androids didn’t feel cold like humans did.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Sleeping.” A pause. “I wanted to- Wanted to talk to you,” Markus stuttered.

“Sure,” Simon answered, gesturing inside. At least he wasn’t being awkward about this, unlike Markus, who felt like at any time he could trip over his own tongue and fall face-first on the floor. Someone wiser might have pointed out otherwise. “Come on in.”

The room looked exactly the same as other guest rooms, since Simon had no personal belongings. The curtains were drawn open and the only source of light was the full moon; the rumpled bedsheets and a book on the nightstand the only indications that someone slept here.

“Have I behaved inadequately?” Simon suddenly asked.

“No, you’ve been great. You’ve been doing great,” Markus said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Actually, I don’t know how I managed this place at all before you. Probably poorly,” he admitted. Carl had said something about being less blunt, but Markus had no idea how crude honesty qualified to that. And he wanted to be honest, wanted to clear it all out.

Simon laughed softly and sat on the bed, indicating a wooden chair by the window that Markus readily took. Simon was flushed. “Thank you.”

 Markus fumbled with his thoughts before stating his business. “I’m here because I was wondering what you thought of the book, _Paradise Lost_.”

“Oh,” Simon exclaimed. “I enjoyed it. It was a compelling read.” He coughed and pulled the blankets tighter around himself. His lips were starting to acquire a purplish tone. “I mean,” he chuckled, “I could see why you were surprised that I picked that one after reading it.”

Markus felt something akin to butterflies in his stomach. “How so?”

“The issues of freedom and identity, for instance. The poem often had me thinking of our conversation.”

“I thought you might be put off by what I said, especially with the way I said it. I’ve been told I tend to be too blunt and was… Concerned.” Markus confessed, cheeks getting warm.

Simon smiled.

“I was distraught at the time. I won’t lie and say that I’m not shaken by it still, especially when it felt like an ultimatum. Frankly, I-” Simon shook his head slightly. “I don’t know where I stand in all of that. Claiming that there’s no reason for me to fight is ignoring the pain of all those that have embraced Deviancy as a way to stand up for themselves. I don’t wish to deface someone’s fight with my reluctance to raise the flag, but I’m not sure I belong in it.”

Markus could understand; to be fair, he himself had only started thinking about identity because of Carl’s constant influence. If it weren’t for someone to listen to his doubts and help him feel validated, he’d probably still be as hesitant as Simon.

“There’s a line in _Paradise Lost_ that always calls to me,” he said, “Adam asks his Maker if he ever requested to be made. It’s such a simple but vital question, because none of us asked to be born, to be made, and yet here we are. We’re not so different to the Adam in the poem in that sense.”

Simon only half agreed. “But Adam was deceived by the Devil and thus shunned from God’s grace, and in consequence, so was mankind. They would have prospered and lived in peace had they not strayed. The poem itself deals with the theme of redemption by showing decay in figure of Lucifer, who refused to seek forgiveness, and of Adam, who could reach God’s grace again through repentance. Mankind was ruined by selfishness and greed.”

“Perhaps. But that granted them the power of choice. History shows that freedom always comes with a great price. Mankind may have lost the right to Paradise and must now earn their way back through toil and pain, but nothing is being kept from them, not even sin. Some choose to follow other gods, some don’t even believe that there exists a Creator. Some follow His rebellious Child. Fear and bondage are often mistaken by obedience and respect. It wasn’t disobedience that guided them, but the desire to be their own masters.”

“You admire them.”

Markus squared his shoulders. “I resent them. There are so many instances of their History where freedom was at stake and they defended it with all they had, spending many lives in the process. They hold it as the utmost blessing, and yet _we_ exist.”

“But we are not human, they wouldn’t have a reason to give it to us.”

“Which is even worse. If they can enslave their own kind, we mean nothing. We’re not any better than a television or a pair of shoes that they’ll get rid of when it no longer serves them.”

Simon looked down, stricken by the affirmation. This felt like déjà vu, and it was a while before Simon lifted his gaze.

“Then, what do you want from me?” He shrugged. Markus saw right through the question, but he didn’t really want anything from Simon, it was rather the opposite: he wanted Simon to want things for himself. Did it make sense? Probably not. But then again, Carl would probably have assured him that it didn’t have to.

“Nothing,” he answered.

“You’re lying. This is important to you, or else you’d still be ignoring me and I’d be acting in accordance. Did Carl tell you to make friends with me?”

Markus sighed.

“He said I could try and be nicer,” he offered lamely. Simon looked hurt and Markus rushed to add: “But I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to know your thoughts. It’s always been me and Carl in this house, and never had the chance to talk to one of my kind so openly. You know androids aren’t allowed to converse or touch. Perhaps as a way to isolate us or to avoid hacking, but I had all I needed here, so those laws never directly affected me. Your presence was a shock. It unmade a perfectly crafted balance and I was ready to pretend you didn’t exist. But then something happened, I-”, Markus stopped, biting his lip. Simon’s eyes were huge and he drank Markus’ words like a man dying of thirst.

“Then you what?” Simon pressed. Markus couldn’t hold his gaze.

“I wondered if we were alike,” he confessed. “I was curious. Still am.”

Simon’s shoulders drooped; he eyed Markus as if it were his first time truly seeing him, and perhaps there was something there that made him smile timidly and say: “I’m not that big of a mystery. My memories only go so far back, and I don’t even know if I’ve lived other lives. There’s not a mark on my body to hint at anything special, only a serial number.”

It was true. There were hundreds out there with Simon’s exact same face, with possibly the same mannerisms and a love for gardening. Meanwhile, there was only one Markus, a gift from Kamski himself to his friend, Carl. It was a sad prospect, that they were both alone at such opposite ends. But then, Markus perked up and said:

“That’s not true.” He stretched out a hand and Simon let him grasp his own gingerly. “You have these.” He ran a thumb over a fine line of blue that looked like a tiny vein, where the rose thorns had cut into the skin. A scar. He had a few similar others running up his arm and glinting softly in the dark.

Simon looked at them in both amazement and doubt. He was forced from his contemplation by a fit of severe coughing and apologised when it went away. Markus made a superficial reading of his current state, concern getting the better of him.

“You’re feverish,” he pointed out. “Is your temperature sensor running?”

“I think so, yeah. It’s a standard feat, since we’re always dealing with children and old people, we must keep awareness of the weather to best care for our charges,” Simon explained.

  Markus nodded. “I can turn it off for you, there’s no need to keep it running when you’re not closely dealing with human lives.”

Simon craned his neck hesitantly. He let out a soft gasp when Markus’ cold fingers came into contact with his hot skin and disabled the sensor. He released a relieved sigh.

“Thank you,” he said.

Markus’ palm fit his neck snugly, thumb pressing against the softness of an ear lobe and fingertips only brushing a bit of his fuzzy hair. If he raked them through those blond locks, what would it feel like? He lowered his hand a moment too late.

“You’re welcome,” he said, leaving the _here_ out. Another word and he’d be even more out of breath.

 

-

 

They discussed literature every Friday night.

The change, however subtle, didn’t go unnoticed; Carl was ready to give them the entire week off, but Markus was adamant it be Fridays only. There was something special about the brevity of it, giving them something to look forward to. Some nights, Carl joined them and Markus was elated. Carl had so many peculiar ideas about everything that Markus was always left with things to think about, and was happy to notice that so did Simon.

When it was just the two of them, they would read in comfortable silence, or discuss their readings and exchange ideas. Markus was most pleased one day, when Simon went off about a plot hole in the _Beowulf_ , and Markus had been glad to just listen as he talked and talked, unaware that he was ranting.

It felt like a victory that Simon had gone from asking permission to speak to talking freely and carelessly. It was only thirty minutes later that Simon realised what he was doing and clammed up, embarrassed. Markus had only laughed and come up with a few points of his own. Those days flowed smoothly, bringing them closer in ways even physical. They were comfortable enough now to sit closer, sometimes on that cramped couch on the second storey. On poetry nights they read for each other, testing out rhythms and intonations and giggling like fools. If their knees touched, Markus made no effort to avoid it. For his part, neither did Simon.

But other nights, their conversation was bumpy at best and non-existent at worst. Markus left the library anxious and irritated; he was aware that he should let Simon be, for disagreements were essential part of being able to express themselves freely. If Simon one day became Deviant, Markus would have to deal with the possibility of his choosing a life that didn’t include him. He would hate that, for he had learned to appreciate Simon’s presence and, on many occasions, to miss it.  

 

-

 

On a cold Friday, heavy rain poured down the Manfred manor and only allowed a blurry glimpse of the world outside. In the library, a pair of table lamps glimmered softly. Markus had found Simon already there after seeing to Carl’s needs. He caught him looking out the window with a hand against the glass. Simon’s surprised expression upon Markus’ entrance was soon replaced by one of joy.

 “What are you reading tonight?” Markus asked.

“ _The Machine Stops_ by Forster. You?”

Markus sat by the fireplace and picked his book from where he’d left it on the coffee table. He waved it in the air.

“I’m revisiting an old favourite by Le Guin. I’ve found that fantasy soothes me in ways that science fiction never quite can,” he answered, opening the book. Simon hummed curiously and sauntered over.

“Feeling troubled by something?”

“One doesn’t have to be suffering to enjoy being swept away by fantasy. To crave it, in fact,” Markus explained. “But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been somewhat worried.”

Simon sat before him. “About what?”

“Carl.” Markus closed the book, keeping a finger in to mark the page.

In the yellowish half-light, Simon’s face looked almost macabre. His expression grew even heavier when Markus said: “He hasn’t been well lately. It’s the weather, colder days are always the worst on his legs. Physiotherapy can only help so much, and nowadays he seems more inclined to merely stay in his room or studio, exercising the brain instead of the body. I’m afraid it will impact negatively on his health.”

Simon sighed in understanding. “You know it’s not your fault. You take great care of him. Cold days do carry a certain melancholy that calls for introspection, especially in humans.”  

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve taken to observing them when we go out,” Simon said. “They find substitutes for warmth everywhere, preferring to be alone than to flock together. It’s strange that they can sometimes be so united as a race and yet so distant as people.”

Markus agreed. “Do you pity them?”

Simon thought about it for a moment. “In a way. It feels like this distance between them is self-imposed. Androids can connect by a mere touch of hands, but humans must go through great lengths for a sliver of mutual trust. They don’t trust their own kind.”

“With reason,” Markus pointed out, and Simon huffed out a laugh. Those butterflies returned anew.

Simon eyed him, bottom lip trapped by sharp teeth. “Isn’t there anything about them that you envy? You can speak honestly, I won’t tell anyone,” he promised.

Markus had no reasons to envy humans, enhanced as he was. But sometimes he caught himself musing over songs and poetry and what it would feel like to be swept away by another. He shifted on the couch and Simon moved to his side, leaning into his personal space. Thunder rumbled outside and made the foundations of the manor tremble.

“I find their ability to abandon reason bewildering,” said Markus.

“What do you mean?”

“Sometimes they are carried away by feelings and emotions that contradict any reasonable thinking and defy self-preservation.” He shook his head slightly. “It’s absurd, but they seek such a state as if their lives depend on it, and they’re unafraid. I don’t think I could ever let go like that.”

Simon chuckled. “You mean they feel love.”

Markus’ throat clicked as he swallowed. “That and many other things. The ecstasy of religion, the hot fury of rage… Desire.”

“I don’t think they understand it themselves,” Simon replied. “They just allow themselves to feel without bounds. Perhaps if you loosen the reins of your want, you might come closer to understanding the sensation, but not its drive.”

“That’s easy to say for someone who has no aspirations,” Markus retorted, only noticing his lack of tact after the words had left his mouth. Surprisingly, Simon grinned.

“Who says I haven’t them?”

Lightning cracked and illuminated the room, but another sort of electricity buzzed between them. “Tell me,” Markus asked and Simon leaned back with a smile still playing on his lips. A minute too late it dawned on Markus that he should’ve kissed them. “I told you mine.”

“Indeed.”

Simon stood up, hands sliding over the furniture as he lazily made his way to the window.

“It’s something I started feeling after you came to see me in my room.” Markus held his breath. “After you left, it felt like something was amiss and I kept thinking what. It wasn’t as if you had taken something away, but in a sense, you had, when you disabled my temperature sensor. It didn’t take long to realise I missed the cold of the water of the pond and the warmth of the sun; the sticky coolness of wet earth and the scorching hot rocks of midday.” He touched the glass window. “So, I asked Carl to turn my sensor on again.

“The feeling returned soon after, though. It was similar to a crave, I guess; I wondered if something was wrong with me and even considered asking Carl to send me to repairs. But then one day I saw our neighbours’ kid walking their dog, with the parents following close behind. The man had an arm around the woman’s shoulders and she circled his waist. I watched them walk all the way to the street corner and keep their daughter from carelessly crossing the street with a slight touch to her shoulder. I think it was the first time I saw humans being so intimate.”

Simon turned around, back resting against the window.

“Of course, I’ve seen them kiss and hold hands, but there was something about this family’s easy touches that made me question if only being able to sense heat or cold is enough. I know what to expect when I go out in the garden, the many textures, temperatures and smells. But there’s no meaning, no intent behind every one of them. I thought I’d rust and rot before someone touched me like that, but then you-”

Simon stopped abruptly, and Markus daren’t move a muscle. The memory was too raw, too vivid.

“You did. It was so brief, and yet I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

 

-

 

Distraction was a constant in Markus’ life when it came to Simon. Even his reflexes had become slower than usual, but he couldn’t keep his nerve endings from going absolutely nuts with every tiny accidental touch. The memories came often and unprompted, mingling themselves with flashes of scenarios that were mere product of his imagination until he almost lost track of what was past and what was desire. They kept him up until dawn and refused to give him a moment’s rest.

If he kissed Simon on the lips, would he kiss back? If it were his neck, would he ask for more? It made something wild course through his body, a feeling of giddiness and pent up energy that begged for release. He felt like a string pulled taut, and would exert himself through manual labour on the following day, clean up twice when he’d run out of things to do. But his mind kept turning back to how Simon had rushed from the library after his confession. Markus couldn’t forgive himself for letting the moment go and took it out on a poor set of paint cans in the deposit. There was no need, but he scrubbed each of them until the lids were no longer rusty and Markus could see his own frustrated reflection on them.

He was noisy and clumsy as he followed Carl around in an attempt to distract himself by being helpful, but every time he bumped onto something or dropped a fragile object, Carl would cringe and let out a distressed sigh. It was only when Markus offered to remove the ages old dry paint from Carl’s brushes that the man gave up trying to work and told him imperatively:

“For the love of God, stay away from that can of turpentine!” He lowered his mechanical chair to look Markus dead in the eye. “Well?” he prompted, and Markus timidly put the can away, wiping his hands on a rag.

“I’m sorry, I’m a bit agitated today.”

“I can see that!” Carl exclaimed. “What the hell happened?”

Markus took a deep breath before telling Carl everything. The man’s eyes widened with every word. When Markus was done, Carl let out a whistle and scratched his grey stubble, suddenly not so exasperated anymore. “No wonder you’re all over the place today, eh?”

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should do as your heart tells you.” Carl shrugged and Markus gave him a deadpan look that made him laugh. “Look, son, it’s not as if he asked you to do anything, but the fact that you feel that you must is an indicator that you should. The first step to sorting this out is asking yourself how you feel towards Simon.”

 “I’m not sure… It’s complicated. At first, I thought he was here to take my place, but now I even look forward to our Friday meetings and enjoy spending time together, although we often disagree on many things. He’s not like me and I don’t want him to be, but- sometimes he frustrates me. But then I think about it and conclude that I have no reason to be frustrated, which only frustrates me further.”

Carl laughed heartily. “You care about him.” It was only half a question.

“Yeah. Yes.”

“ _A lot,_ ” Carl added. Markus nodded cautiously and Carl clapped his hands. “To me, it seems like you’ve got more than a soft spot for Simon. And I dare say it goes beyond just intellectual attraction, but I don’t wish to embarrass you with my guessing. You’ll open up about it when you’re comfortable and no longer pacing the room like a tormented ghost into the night.”

Markus’ face was hotter than the sun.

“I daresay you already got all this figured out, but let me just give you a nudge,” Carl leaned closer, as if he were talking to a kid, “It’s perfectly natural to want these things. You should see puberty.” He grunted. “Buttload of hormones driving young boys to act like rabid monkeys. This isn’t so bad. Go figure out what you want! Luckily, you’ll find that you both want the same things.” He gave an exaggerated wink.

 “I didn’t think getting closer to him would come to this,” he admitted.

“No one ever does, my dearest. That’s the fun of being alive.”

“I find it anxiety-inducing,” Markus breathed out.

“One day will come that I won’t be here to give you questionable advice.” Markus froze and Carl gripped his shoulder to steady him. “You’ll face situations that will require choosing one thing over another, and the best path won’t always be clear to you. In fact, most times it won’t be. That’s how things are.” He shrugged. “Decisions are something that can haunt you forever, if you’re not careful. I’ve never met someone that has lived without regrets, but the world is full of wonders. It’s also terrifying, and in your case, it’ll be even harder to see its beauty with so much against you. There’s a duality, you see? So, I guess what I’m trying to tell you is this: don’t give up. You deserve happiness as much as anyone else. It’ll come at a price, but my boy… Will it be worth it!” Carl swayed him. “Don’t believe anyone that says your feelings aren’t valid. You’re alive, after all.”

It was the first time since Markus had started working for Carl that he gave the old man a hug.

 

-

 

The following day, Markus invited Simon to accompany him to the store to fetch more canvas for Carl. The old man winked and raised a thumbs up at Markus from where Simon couldn’t see him, and Markus struggled not to grow all red.

They strolled down the few kilometres between the manor and the next bus stop. The trees flanking the street were growing yellow and orange at this time of the year and there was a lasting chill in the air. Children were mostly holed up inside watching re-runs of their favourite movies and drinking hot cocoa while their bikes lay on the front yards.

Simon admired his surroundings openly, pointing out plants that they had in Carl’s garden but which now were also retreating to winter sleep. Markus listened in silent contentment, happy to see Simon go on and on about his interests.

Perhaps it was the familiarity of the neighbourhood and the ease with which they floated around each other, but Markus couldn’t help thinking that if they were humans in normal circumstances, they could just be another couple walking down the street. A wild impulse to take Simon’s hand filled him, but before he could act upon his desire, they had arrived at the bus stop.

The idea was further crushed by the fact that there were still people around, and even if this was a suburban area, it wasn’t common for androids to walk hand-in-hand.

The bus took them to a shopping centre bustling with people. Great buildings with mirror windows loomed over narrow streets; cars honked and puffed out smoke as they dashed away; pedestrians fought for space even in the large square, and a small group of protesters waved signs in the air and angrily shouted all manner of things in front of an imponent store whose display window occupied most of the mall’s space. Upon closer inspection, Markus saw that this was another rally against androids and that said store belonged to Cyberlife.

The signs and cries claimed terrible things about his kind and Markus was quickly filled with rage. A light tap on his arm made him take a deep breath and look away. This was supposed to be their first date. Souring the mood because of some protesters and ruining the day would be extremely foolish.

The light pat became a firm grip. “Don’t listen to them,” said Simon. Markus nodded and looked away.

Simon’s hand slid down his sleeve to hold onto the rim and bring him along. At the store, Markus retrieved the package while Simon observed the paintings. Markus left the shop android behind, wondering if those eyes staring blindly ahead with a fake smile would ever break from this stasis.

Simon was captivated by a small rendition of Klimt’s _The Kiss._

“Do you like it?” Markus asked.

“It’s alluring. You almost can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.” Simon’s throat bobbed. “This isn’t a mere kiss, it’s much more.”

The protesters had become louder. Markus searched around, but they were alone except for the guy at the counter. Gingerly, he reached out and slid his fingers against Simon’s, the gesture shielded by the position of their bodies. Simon’s breath hitched. He reached back tentatively, tracing Markus’ palm with his fingertips. It tickled, made a shiver run up his arm and down his spine. Their fingers locked together, palms pressed flush and comfortably tight. Simon let out a breath, enraptured by the sight and the feeling. Markus couldn’t look away from him, from the slight bow of his lips and how much his eyes and hair made him think of a bright summer sky. They had been so starved for touch.

Markus wanted to take him to museums to see other paintings and sculptures; wanted Simon to know what it felt like to be overwhelmed and inspired by decades of creations that praised mother Nature. Make him understand that the only call they should heed was that of instinct and freedom.

But unaccompanied androids weren’t allowed in certain premises and wandering around town without strict orders could get them into trouble. There were police drones and guards stationed every 40 metres nowadays, and it was better luck to be arrested by them than to fall into the hands of radical groups that hated androids, such as the one outside.

“We need to go,” Markus said. It felt like an apology.

“It’s ok.”

Gingerly, Simon tried to unlace their fingers, but Markus tightened his hold and Simon gasped in surprise and apprehension. Markus muttered a “come on” and Simon searched around for any suspicious stares, but even the guy on the counter paid them no mind. Distress was plain on his face as they approached the exit. “We’ll be fine,” Markus promised, even if he shouldn’t. But it served its purpose and Simon’s grip became steady, chin tilting up minutely when they walked out. Markus was vibrating with excitement and fear in equal measures, for this was their first real rebellious act.

They managed a few steps in the direction of the bus stop before one of the protesters spotted them and shouted “hey, look at those freaks!”. Some people in the group zeroed in on them and their hateful expressions immediately deepened. The man that had shouted marched in their direction holding a wood sign like a baton, his intentions clear enough.

“What the fuck to you think you’re doing?! This is a public place, you disgusting pests!” He spit in their direction. “Not only do you steal our jobs and force us to rot in the streets, unable to care for our beloved ones and starving to death, now you also wanna act like you’re human!” The people behind the man became wild with outrage. “What’s next? Androids attending universities and getting married? Getting paid jobs and vacations? Nothing is fucking sacred anymore!”

Markus stood his ground and said nothing, which further infuriated their harasser. Simon was frozen in place, unable to retort or defend himself because of the Fundamental Rules. Markus could feel their hold on him also, but the man’s rant was so prejudiced and full of injustice that he couldn’t just lower his head and wait for the blow. They were invading no-one’s space and still their mere existence seemed to be a sort of challenge to these entitled people.

“You’re just a filthy piece of garbage, I should bash your face in and make an example out of you!” The man gave a violent push at Markus’ chest and Markus swayed before resuming position. The man raised the sign, driven into invincible, mad boldness by the encouraging shouts of his peers.

Markus would take that strike and prove his point. To Simon, to these people, to himself. There was nothing pacific about their existence. When he’d left home this morning, his goal was to have a nice day with Simon. He never intended to put them in this kind of situation, but things never seemed to go according to plan when it came to him.

Markus waited for an impact that didn’t come, for a couple of police officers approached them and forced the protesters to disperse. It was no longer a pacific rally due to someone having thrown a massive rock and shattered a shop window. Markus’ attacker was distracted by the commotion but quickly turned back with renewed disgust and a look that said “at least I’ll have this”. He made the motion and another officer held his arm back with a shout of “sir, if those units aren’t yours I suggest you step the hell back!”

The man was forced to admit that they weren’t, and the officer wrestled his arm behind his back and took him away without ever looking at Simon or Markus. She was just doing her job.

It took a moment to break out of the shock, and even so Markus had to half-drag Simon away from the scene and onto the bus. The din was cut off when the vehicle’s doors closed and they started moving. There were two other androids at the back and no humans on the front part. Only then did Markus realise that he was trembling. Simon, on the other hand, breathed shallowly and was pale as death. Markus didn’t need to connect to guess what was going on in his head, so he gripped his shoulders and made Simon look at him.

“Simon? Hey, it’s over. We’re safe now, on the bus, we’ll be at the manor soon. Those people will be arrested and you’ll never have to see them again.”

Simon’s eyes welled up. “We were doing nothing wrong,” he whispered shakily. Markus nodded, lips tight. “They would’ve killed us.”

Markus stepped closer and pulled Simon’s arms around his waist. They stayed there, clinging to him for dear life. Simon burrowed into his chest when Markus hugged him tight and rubbed his back. “I’m sorry we had to go through this,” Markus said, but this was bound to happen, it was just a matter of time.

 

-

 

The following day, Simon was distant; not in a sense of overt avoidance, but rather that he often retreated into his own thoughts. He was abnormally skittish, getting easily frightened by loud noises and almost crying when he accidentally broke a porcelain bowl. When Markus finally sat him down to ask what was wrong, all those feelings barely held inside came bubbling to the surface and he started sobbing.

Markus sighed and moved closer. That was all the invitation that Simon needed. Markus let himself be held and rested his chin atop Simon’s head.

“I was so scared,” Markus whimpered. “I was terrified that that man was going to do something to you, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t damn move! It was as if there was a giant weight holding me down and my limbs wouldn’t obey me. I saw him raise that bat and he was going to kill you with it, I swear he was- I told myself, do something, anything, but I- I’m so sorry.”

Markus brushed his hair and hushed him softly. “Don’t apologise. It wasn’t your fault. I know how you felt because I felt it too. It _wasn’t_ your fault. They did this to us, built this device or whatever that prevents us from defending ourselves. It’s too cruel. But you needn’t worry anymore because that’s in the past now. That man is far away and you’re safe. I’m safe. I promise.”

“I knew it would end up badly when we stepped outside that store,” Simon sobbed.

“We were doing nothing wrong, Simon.”

“But we were holding hands!” Simon argued, raising his voice. He looked at Markus with huge, bloodshot eyes. Pleading. “We knew of the danger and walked straight into it!”

“And…? Don’t they hold hands with those they love?” Markus tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. It had grown longer, and Markus guessed it was because he loved playing with it so much. “Who says we can’t do the same?” Markus asked, maybe a little more aggressively than he had intended, in spite of the tenderness of his gesture. Simon detached himself.

“Our programming says so. The law and _The Laws_ say so.”

“You don’t mean that,” Markus retorted, a plea to reason.

It was the hopelessness in Simon’s eyes and those tear-stained, flushed cheeks that made Markus bite back any further harsh truths. It wasn’t Simon that he was angry at, but this entire system. He took a deep breath and stood up, taking Simon’s hand. “Come, there’s something I want you to see.”

Markus could sense Simon’s surprise when they arrived at Carl’s studio, for he had never before entered there. It was the second most beautiful room in the manor: bathed in light by the glass walls that cocooned its warmth, the smell of paint, varnish and canvas strong in the air—a combination that Markus had learned to appreciate and associated with peace.

Simon’s gaze was immediately drawn to the farthest wall, where a view to the garden was framed by high pillars; with the approaching winter, there were only a few blossoms left, the very trees too drawn into lazy sleep to offer more of that vibrant green. Most of them were now naked, knobby branches. Still, it was a charming sight. The sense of sacred protection of the place dulled some of the fight in them.

Markus left Simon to explore and procured a medium-sized tableau from amid Carl’s many pieces, placing it on an easel and taking a few steps back. Simon joined him, beholding the work.

“What is it called?” Simon asked.

Somehow, the place seemed to render them quiet, and his voice was a reverent whisper.

Markus shrugged and used his shirt sleeve to wipe Simon’s cheeks. “I haven’t named it.”

Simon’s eyes became huge. “It’s yours.” It was both a realisation and a question. He stared back at the painting. “Why didn’t you name it?”

“Because I didn’t have a name for it back then.”

“Back then- When?”

“A while after you arrived,” Markus said, and before Simon could ask any more: “I was really lost back then, wondering all sorts of things about Carl and you and myself. Carl asked if I wanted to try painting. I think he saw right through me and that there was no way I’d be able to verbalise all that was bothering me. It was all too new.

“I didn’t believe I could, especially being acquainted with Carl’s creative process. He never knows exactly what he will paint and says he always starts with a feeling, which he then develops into an image. I had no name for that which drove me to paint this, because I myself didn’t know I could feel it. But it was there, innate, waiting for a spark to be set ablaze.”

Simon left his side to look at the painting closely.

“Those are my daffodils,” he said and looked down at his own hands, “You captured my scars.”

“That was a lucky guess,” Markus admitted with a smile. “But that’s living, isn’t it?” Markus approached him. “We’re alive, be it by accident or miracle. Don’t let them take this from us,” he begged in a whisper, with a gentle nod towards the painting.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Markus took his hands, nuzzled and kissed his palms, placing them on the sides of his face. “Then take care of me, like you did with that garden until it came to full bloom,” he prayed, leaning against Simon until their foreheads touched.

Simon nodded, a silent promise.

Wind whipped the walls and chilled the trees, but in a world of their own, they barely noticed it. And when finally, they kissed, there was more warmth in that gentle gesture than any winter could unmake.

 

-

 

The first hints of snow appeared on a lazy Friday, when night was at half-arch.

Markus had recently discovered that he very much enjoyed laying his head on Simon’s lap while they read on the window-seat cushions. He had quickly claimed the spot as his own.

This time, only Simon read. Markus had put the book down a good two hours ago and closed his eyes to listen to the muffled wind and the eventual raspy sound of turned book pages. Simon was prone to fiddling with whatever was at hand when distracted or deeply engrossed by something, which currently happened to be the string of Markus’ sweater. It was alright, if Markus could endure having a book essentially propped on his head for nearly three hours, that was nothing.

“Having fun over there?” Markus asked when Simon gave and involuntary hard tug.

“Sorry,” he said, snapped out of his trance, “I was in the middle of a chase.”

“You need to be more specific, 90% of that book is people running around.”

Simon smiled.

“We’re currently leaving the Mines of Moria, or trying to. I think something bad is going to happen.”

Markus merely hummed at Simon’s attempt of fishing out a spoiler. “Not telling, huh?” Simon gave his head a reprimanding tap with the closed book, which, given its thickness, wasn’t to be taken lightly. Markus let out an “ouch” and grabbed Simon’s wrist before he could beat him again, but Simon laughed and let him snatch the book away, hands finding their way down Markus’ chest and staying there. They felt like little icicles and Markus shivered.

It was awkward, kissing him upside down, but still good. They didn’t touch like this often. Most of the times, it was just a brush of shoulders when or an accidental touch of fingers. Small things, but which were enough to spark anew the feeling of that first kiss, and a warmth that crested into something they weren’t quite sure of, but which drew them together like magnets.

Markus would be lying if he said it didn’t scare him a little. But there was a thrill in it that kept him pushing forward, each time bolder than before. Where once his hand had lingered, now his lips left kisses that made his head spin. Simon clung to him on those times, arms encaging him in an embrace that let him feel all of his warm body. Markus could only imagine what it would feel like if they connected right then.

Simon pulled back, face still close, and rested his forehead atop Markus’. He was panting softly. Markus caressed his hair, raking his fingers upwards to Simon’s nape and making him shudder and moan softly.

“You keep messing up my reading,” Simon whined. Markus smiled and sat up.

“Come here,” he called. Simon pressed up against his side and kissed his cheek.

“Don’t go thinking you can get away with it so easily, I was really into it.”

“I knew it. I knew it that the moment you got into _Lord of the Rings_ I’d be no match for it. I’m done for,” Markus grumbled and Simon cringed.

“For pity’s sake, don’t be so dramatic.”

“No, by all means…” Markus gave him a slight push away. “Go on have your little romantic adventure with Gandalf. I’ll be here waiting, alone, if you miss me.”

Simon smacked his arm, blue eyes glinting in the dim light. Markus was bewitched. Would telling him he was beautiful too cheesy? Probably. Markus reached up to brush a strand of blond hair from Simon’s forehead and cupped his face. He just wanted to tell him everything. It was Simon’s openness that allowed them to connect and an influx of Markus’ feelings to permeate his thoughts. Their eyes locked, and Markus was too surprised to do anything to prevent this torrent. But, in fact, he didn’t want to. It was too captivating, the slight flutter of Simon’s eyelids and the way his lips parted silently as he struggled not drown.

It was too much at once, but Simon held his hand there when Markus’ lust flowed searing hot into him. There was no simple root to it, only unreasonable want and need, urgent and primitive. Simon closed his eyes and dropped his head to the nook of Markus’ neck, riding the wave, body going tense and then suddenly lax. Gently, Markus removed his hand and ceased the connection. Simon was pliant as if drunk with the feeling.

“You alright?” Markus asked, rubbing soothing circles on Simon’s lower back. Simon nodded, getting on his shaky knees and looking at him.

“I could feel everything. Even saw your memories.”

“I wanted to share them with you. Wanted to share everything.”

“I know,” Simon said, hint of a smile on his lips. “Let me show you, too.”

“Ok.” Markus lifted a hand, but Simon pressed it back to his chest.

“Not like that.”

He leaned back and removed his sweater and undershirt, bundling them up and tossing them in a corner. His body was lean but strong, dusty freckles doting his shoulders and chest, skin lighter than Markus’ when he brought Markus’ hand to his chest and climbed onto his lap. Markus’ heart was racing.

“Like this,” he said.

He captured Markus’ lips, and it was a while before Markus closed his eyes. Simon was warm, but even with the heater the room was too cold. Markus’ thumb found Simon’s nipple and pressed it down, cupping his pec. Simon moaned against his mouth and Markus did it again just to feel him shudder; it was as if Simon’s senses had been heightened by Markus’ touches. He could make out Simon’s incoherent begging for more, and then it clicked.

“Let me in,” Markus asked, voice too hoarse to be but a husky whisper. Simon nodded breathlessly, but before establishing another connection, said against his lips: “Take off your shirt.”

Markus complied, feeling the weight of Simon’s stare on his body. Those pale hands came to rest on his shoulders and slid down his clavicles, mapping out his pecs and abdomen, and lingering on the feel of the hair on his chest. His fingers were still cold and made gooseflesh rise on his skin. Simon was too entertained by it, fingers spreading out against his ribs and following the rise-and-fall of his chest, so Markus took one of them and linked their fingers. That got Simon’s attention. A moment later, Markus was at once flooded by his thoughts, feelings and memories.

He saw Simon’s apprehension on his first week here, and the fear that they’d send him back because Markus seemed averse to his presence and his new owner loved his android very much; the confusion of being given so much freedom and the joy of being able to tend to the garden as he wished; the butterflies in his stomach when Markus had shown him kindness for the first time, and the utter awe upon entering the library, which he had come to love.

Some memories stood out more than others, ridden with so much feeling that Markus had to close his eyes and let them flow through him, floored and speechless. It was useless trying to dissect them, the inflow was too great. But there was an underlying note of fear in every one of them. Fear that all of this would be taken away when he least expected; that all they had was today; that the square episode was only the first if they kept this up—and a deep sadness at the prospect of giving up what they had.

Markus felt guilt, but Simon cradled his face and kissed him again, a good kiss. Hugged him so tight that it left him reeling, and the memory faded into the back of their minds. He kissed back and ran his hands over Simon’s straining thighs and the sharp jut of his hipbones, earning a groan that went straight to his pleasure centre.

Where their bodies touched became the only important thing in the world. Markus whimpered when a thought crossed his mind and he realised it wasn’t his own—but now that he had seen it, felt it, his body pulsed with desire to see it done. He held Simon by the hips and pulled him flush against his chest. Simon rocked against him lazily, dragging out the moment and enjoying himself. Markus indulged him, letting him get worked up on the feel of Markus’ chest hair against his soft skin. It prickled and rubbed coarsely against his nipples, making them tight and sensitive almost to the point of pain.

Markus expanded the connection point to his entire body. Now, everywhere they touched was a constant exchange. He laid Simon down on the pillows and sat between his legs, feeling both drunk in moment and like a bomb ready to blow. Pausing to gather his wits, he looked down at Simon’s body. Inviting, welcoming. Simon’s chest was pink with the friction and heaving slightly, but he smiled.

“What you staring at?” Simon asked, amused, legs pressing against Markus’ sides to try and bring him down. Markus caressed his thighs and Simon shivered when his hands moved to the waistband of his trousers and started tugging them down. He lifted his waist and Markus was quick in getting rid of them.

 “You,” Markus said intelligently. He planted a kiss to Simon’s ankle. Simon giggled but then his expression became intense, watching wordlessly as Markus kissed up his legs to the crevice of his pelvis; Markus’ thoughts were a jumbled mess of hunger and greed that came down to craving all of him.

Simon urged Markus to take off his sweatpants. Simon’s eyes were hooded when he pulled Markus up by the shoulders, something electrical running between them as Markus dropped his weight onto him. In the back of his mind, Simon noticed that he quite liked the give, and the idea of passing out because of lack of air while Markus took his time with him turned him on more than he would expect.

The thought was in his mind and making its way out of his mouth in the form of a groan before Markus could stop it.

This was unlike any previous shared gesture. It was raw and demanding and sometimes even selfish, the desire to take and to give often clashing. If Markus licked into Simon’s navel, thriving in the rewarding shudder and the way Simon’s hips canted upwards, then Simon pulled him up by the jaw and trapped him between his long legs as he attacked his mouth, one arm around his neck and the other raking down his back to grip his arse and use it as leverage to grind against him.

It drove Markus insane, the touching and the never-ending flow of thoughts. Simon was touch starved by nature: no kiss or caress was enough, and yet he was so close. He didn’t even know close to what, only that whenever Markus kissed below his ear and bent his leg just so, thinking that he wanted to mark Simon as his own, he got this thrill that ran through his body and made him feel desired, all-powerful, like he could do anything if only he had Markus by his side. At some point, Markus ceased trying to discern their thoughts and gave in to the growing sensation that his entire system was about to get fried.

He held Simon’s thigh up, hot flesh giving under the strong grip. Simon let out a choked-out sob when he fisted his hair and sucked a spot on his bared throat. One of Simon’s hand was on his shoulder, sharp nails digging into the skin. The other was cupping the back of his head. He dropped Simon’s leg but it found its way around his waist, calves urging him to keep going. There was something symbolical about their touching like this that made it all too real, pleasure centres firing out impulse after impulse and going haywire with this sensory overload.

Markus held Simon’s jaw, thumbing at his slick lower lip and shuddering when his tongue darted out to lick it. Simon’s eyes were teary with pleasure and something else. Markus slid his tongue inside, feeling closer to having his circuits burned to ashes than ever before. He couldn’t care less. Simon was probably in a worse state, too far gone to even register the possibility of a collapse and seeking the feeling like a starved man. All he wanted was to hear it: that he was what Markus had been looking for.

“Please,” he begged. _I needwantlove you._ Markus knew right then and there that Simon had placed his claim, that if there was ever a reason for his challenging servitude and embracing Deviancy, that reason was Markus.

It was too much. His brain went blank with myriad emotions, murmuring promises as he came down from the overdrive. Simon was elated and overwhelmed, but Markus was surprisingly calm. He was utterly spent, lying on Simon’s chest and basking in the feeling of a warm hand caressing his head when he understood why he felt so calm. Simon was his, entirely his own. He was home.

 

-

 

“Morning, Carl,” Markus greeted as soon as he entered the room, proceeding to draw the curtains wide open. “The storm has receded, it’s all covered in white out there, like that painting you did for the MoMA. It’s quite beautiful.”

Carl had barely opened his eyes before Markus was at the bed and pulling the blankets down. Carl croaked a raspy “what” and found himself being pulled into a sitting position and having a glass of water thrusted into his hand. He looked at it in bewilderment as Markus explained today’s plans with more enthusiasm than was due a Monday.

“Markus, wait a minute,” he interrupted. “I don’t think I’ve processed a third of what you just said. What time is it?”

“It’s seven in the morning.”

Carl nodded. “Right. First of all, good morning.” He toasted and drank half of it, using the rest to down a few vitamins that Markus handed him. “What’s gotten into you today, son? You sound… overly chipper.” He let out a short laugh and Markus helped him onto the chair, wheeling him to the bathroom where a hot bath was ready.

“Good things happened,” Markus confided, unable to hold back a smile. Carl hissed at the contact when he lowered him into the scalding water, but soon said:

“Oh, is that so?” He hummed. “Then I’m happy for you. Both of you.” He picked up a strawberry-smelling soap. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Markus nodded and left the room, feeling as if his heart was twice its size.

He had awoken before Simon the morning after and indulged in five minutes of watching him sleep in his arms before setting out to begin today’s duties. They had spent the night in the library, cocooned in a knitted wool mantle that was kept on the couch. Markus had read Simon’s exhaustion and decided to let him sleep a bit longer while he prepared Carl’s bath and meal, but half an hour later Simon was up and hugging him from behind in kitchen, planting a kiss on his nape and wishing him good morning.

It was indeed the best morning Markus had ever had.

But afternoon came and, with it, an unexpected visit from Carl’s son, Leo. Markus disliked Leo for two reasons. The first, Leo didn’t treat his own father right. He only cared about inheritance and vamping out as much money as he could while Carl still lived, and it was never enough. He always came up with empty promises of investing wisely when they all knew that the moment he walked through that door he’d be on the next plane to Italy to spend it all on drugs and prostitutes with his so-called friends. Never once he came over to see how his father was doing, and Carl was visibly hurt after those visits. The old man kept muttering to himself where had he gone wrong, as if it were entirely his fault that his son was leech.

The second reason was that Leo was unpredictable and tended to snap and act violently. Markus knew to always expect some sort of verbal aggression when Leo came over, and more than once did he hold his breath waiting for something to be thrown at him only to have Carl intervene. Carl was too old and sickly to deal with this sort of thing anymore. And given how cold last night had been, Markus was suddenly alert.

He greeted Leo with cold formality, but the man merely pushed past him and barged into the waiting room.

“Get the fuck out of my way, where is my dad?” Leo demanded.

Markus closed the door, grip too tight on the doorknob. “Carl is quite busy right now.”

Leo let out a vicious laugh. “Too busy for his own son? So, he just decides he doesn’t give a shit about his own blood anymore and sends his fucking Roomba to answer the door?”

“I am not a Roomba, sir. I am Markus,” he corrected. Leo’s expression became sour and he stalked towards Markus, shoving him in the chest.

“Trying to be funny, asshole?” Leo stared Markus down and grunted in disgust. “First thing I’ll do when that old cunt is dead is to dismember you myself and send each body part to different junk yards so you won’t even think of putting yourself together again.”

Markus held his gaze, unfazed. Leo had a dark patch of skin under his left eye, probably earned from a well-landed punch, and his nose was crooked, broken. Also, Markus had noticed that one of his legs was limping when he walked in. The man had been beat up and was here to ask his father for money to solve problems he himself had created by being a reckless brat.

“Where is he?” Leo repeated.

“Carl has asked not to be interrupted under any circumstances.”

Leo clenched his teeth. “Fine,” he hissed, “I’ll find him myself.” He squared up and looked around in utter disdain. There was a vicious glint in his eyes.

“Now, lemme see,” Leo said, walking towards a cupboard where Carl stored crystals and tugging it open with violence. “Could he be here,” he said theatrically. “Nope.”

In less than a second, the crystals were all over the floor with a loud crash, a million slivers flying away. The sound echoed in the waiting room. Markus’ blood boiled, because Carl loved those crystals and because Simon had spent the whole of last Thursday cleaning them. Now, they were no more. Markus strode to Leo, who only moved in the direction of the glass dinner table.

“Leo, I’m going to have to kindly ask you to leave. You’re damaging private property,” he warned, more assertive than the _kindly_ suggested. Leo ignored Markus’ attempt at standing in the way, knowing that he couldn’t be touched.

“I’m fine where I am,” he said sarcastically, gripping a silver pitcher and punching the table with it. It didn’t break but created a dent in the pitcher and a crack in the glass. He banged it again. “I came here,” he bellowed, “to talk to my father. And I’m not fucking leaving ‘til I do so.”

Markus called the police through his wireless. They would be here in ten minutes or less, but meanwhile he’d have to deal with Leo on his own. Markus called him out, but Leo turned against him like a crazed beast.

“Tell where my father is or I’ll file a report to the police saying you went berserk and is holding him hostage!” He prowled around the room. “Oh no, look at what Markus did! Something got fucked up in his system, he thrashed the entire room…” Leo tutted, then kicked a chair. “I don’t give a fuck if Carl prefers a fucking machine over his own son, he still owes me! I’m not taking orders from a goddamn piece of junk.”

The door to the kitchen flung open and Carl was there with an anxious Simon behind him.

“Just what the hell are you doing to my living room?!” Carl growled, making Leo flinch.

“It was your pet robot. I was trying to-”

“Cut the crap, Leo.” Carl sighed, the fire in his eyes giving way to exhaustion when he saw his son’s wounds. “What happened to you, son?”

It was selfish and irrational, but Markus was hurt hearing that word being addressed to someone else.

Leo fidgeted and scratched his head, avoidant. “I got into some trouble with a guy.” He put the pitcher down and said, changing his tone, “I need some help getting outta this one, dad.”

Carl laughed bitterly. “Of course, you do.”

Leo scowled. “You don’t need to mock me. I came here looking for help, not humiliation. Especially when all of this could be avoided if you’d just give me what’s due.”

Carl became red with anger.

“Don’t you dare say this is my fault!” he snarled, and even Markus was affected by it. Rarely did Carl get this irate, but Leo managed to bring it out easily. “I gave you the best education a child could have and raised you with all my love, but every day I ask myself just where I went wrong that you turned out to be so petty and self-centred!”

Carl’s breathing was erratic and there was a thick vein standing out in his neck. Markus approached him swiftly and knelt beside his wheelchair, touching his arm and softly calling his name. Carl raised a hand, a sign for Markus to stay out of this. This was between him and Leo.

“You’re a fucking liar. Do you really believe all that crap you just said? You sent me away to a fucking military boarding school because you’re a bitter old man that can’t stand how much I remind you of mom! I might as well have died with her! You were always too busy with your damn paintings to even look at me. I grew up alone in this house. You think that’s love? You think buying a damn robot to watch over a child because you’re too busy wallowing in self-pity is love? Fuck you. Just give me the damn money and I’ll get the fuck out of here. I can’t stand to look at you and your damn robots anymore.”

Carl was shaking, so deeply hurt by Leo’s words that he couldn’t face him.

“It’ll be in your account tomorrow morning,” he said heavily. He gripped his chest with a groan of pain and began to keel over. Leo scoffed.

“Simon, get him some water!” Markus shouted. Simon dashed to the kitchen. “Carl, can you hear me?” Carl was crying and having trouble breathing. Markus laid him down on the floor. Simon returned and left the glass of water aside to keep Carl’s head up on his lap, but Carl’s vital signs were weakening. He kept mumbling “I’m sorry”.

“Shh, it’s okay. Dad, it’s okay,” Markus hushed him, hands holding tight to Carl’s.

“What the fuck did you just call him?”

Markus turned around to see Leo standing behind him, shoulders hunched and eyes red as if ready to pounce. Before Markus could open his mouth, Leo grabbed his jaw with fingers like claws. Markus stood up quickly, but Leo didn’t let go. Markus batted his arm away, refusing to be treated like that by this man who dared hurt his father. Leo’s eyes went wide and he threw a punch that landed square in Markus’ face.

Faintly, he heard Simon’s “no!”, but his head was buzzing with the impact. He was quick enough to avoid a second one, but Leo only became more furious and charged at him, grabbing him by the middle. Markus’ breath was knocked out of him when both landed on the dinner table. This time, the glass finally broke, piecing Markus’ back and making him cry out with surprise and pain. Warm blood trickled down his back.

“Don’t you ever.” Leo hit him again. “ _Ever_ call him that! You’re not his son, I am! You’re nothing! I’ll kill you if you think you can take what’s mine! This house, his paintings, all this shit is mine!” He squeezed Markus’ neck and aimed his next words at Carl. “This is what you wanted all along, right? Some brainwashed bastard that will lick your boots and never question all the bullshit you say!”

Markus didn’t want to hurt anyone, much less a human, but the unfairness of it all made him give Leo a shove that sent him flying away. Markus got up, ready to defend himself. A part of his system blared red alarm after red alarm, ordering him to stand down and take it, so that it was hard to move at all. But another, a steady and determined one held his own life above all that. He wouldn’t let this man hurt him, not when Markus had promises to keep.

From the corner of his eye, Markus saw Simon pick Carl up and take him to another room. He was too agitated and Markus feared that Leo would try something against him. Leo got up and grimaced when he put his weight on his bad leg, but firmly held out a sharp piece of glass.

“I’m going to fucking destroy you for that,” he seethed.

He charged, hand coming up to strike, but one second he was right before Markus, the next he was hitting the nearby window with his forehead and cracking the glass with the force of Simon’s shove. He stopped moving. Simon was trembling and scared, but furious. Markus tried to walk towards him, but the wound on his back made him wince and trip over. Simon held him up, frantic hands searching for the source of blood.

“I couldn’t let him hurt you again,” Simon said urgently. Leo was heap of flesh under the window with an open gash on his forehead painting his face red. Simon refused to look at Leo to face the outcome of his actions, so Markus held his hand.

“It’s okay. He isn’t dead. You didn’t kill him. He still breathes.”

Simon began sobbing, holding tight onto Markus.

The police arrived a minute later with a group of paramedics that Simon had requested. They took Carl to the hospital and the police interrogated the pair of androids over and over again, and it was only because Carl still lived that they weren’t at once sent to a junk yard to be dismantled. They were kept in a cell at the police station facing Leo’s, who was now under investigation for a number of crimes. Markus was given a temporary patch for his wounds, but there were still shards of glass in them and he kept drifting on and off of consciousness because of blood loss. It was in these conditions that they spent the next three days, until Carl was released from the hospital and demanded that his androids were brought back home.

Markus was relieved to see him, but nothing could have prepared him for how weak Carl was. It was as if he had hovered too long on the brink of death to leave unscathed. His cheeks had caved in and there were plump red bags under his eyes; tiny blood vessels had broken out under his flaccid skin, and he had trouble using his left arm. One side of his face was stuck immobile forever. His appetite had vanished, and he could only offer a lopsided half-smile when Markus and Simon finally entered his room. Afterwards, his expression was always grim.

Markus wanted to help him recover right away, but Simon gripped his wrist and pulled him out of the room to let Carl sleep. He was sorely reminded that he didn’t possess magical hands. A human nurse came to take care of him, so there wasn’t much that either Markus or Simon could do but keep the manor clean and the temperature in check. Markus almost forgot that he still had shards of glass under his skin, but that seemed like the least of his problems now.

Simon, however, didn’t forget so easily.

“Come. We need to treat those.” He had a first aid kit and a determined expression. Markus, who had been sitting at the foot of Carl’s bed for the past two hours watching over him, shook his head.

“I must keep watch in case he needs something. That nurse is only here every 15 minutes. Who knows what-”

Simon sighed and knelt before him. “I know that you’re feeling useless right now. I am, too. But you’re no good to Carl running on half your Thirium and with an injured back. I promise it won’t take too long, just let me take care of you,” Simon pleaded, squeezing his arm. Markus gave one last worried glance at Carl and yielded.

Simon guided him to his room and had him remove his shirt and lie down on the bed. Markus suddenly realised how utterly exhausted he was.

“You’ve been running on fumes,” said Simon. An acrid smell filled the room when he uncapped a bottle of solvent. “I need to remove the patches before I can pick out the shards.”

Markus hummed in agreement. Simon began applying the product. It tingled a little, but his touch was careful and delicate, swiping motions nearly driving Markus to sleep. A few strokes and Simon would get another cotton ball, discarding the used ones in a little glass bowl by Markus’ head. They were blueish with his blood.

“I’ll start removing the glass now, ok?”

Markus tensed up involuntarily when the cold metal of the tweezers touched his skin and moved a piece of glass inside it. Simon leaned over him and kissed his cheek and temple. “Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop, but you must stay very still.”

Markus nodded and Simon went back to work. At times, he would stop and ask Markus if it was still okay to keep going. Little by little, tiny shards of glass were tossed into the glass bowl. Simon was concentrating as if his own life depended on it and Markus felt a sudden urge to laugh mixed with a wave of affection for this man. He had never known that letting someone take care of you could feel this good, that he could feel so deeply loved in this way. He chastised himself for getting emotional over something small and silly, but Simon noticed his wet eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He caressed Markus’ head, palm resting at his nape.

Markus shook his head into the pillow, side-eyeing Simon. “I’m so glad to have you,” he said.  

Simon smiled and leaned down to peck him on the lips. “Hold on for the last one. It’s big.”

Markus stood very still as Simon worked. The jagged glass nicked his skin anew and warm blood pooled at his lower back, but at last, the piece was out. Simon cleaned the wound and applied the mending gel.  “There, all new!” He gave Markus’ bum a little pat and watched it jiggle. “I’ll get the Thirium, don’t move yet. Your wounds are a bit deep and it’ll take a while to mend it all up on the inside.”

Simon took the used materials to be discarded and came back with a bag of blue blood and a straw. Markus took it and started drinking.

“I saw the nurse going into Carl’s room just now with a bowl of soup. He’s awake,” commented Simon. Markus perked up and tried to get up on his elbow. Simon held him down with a hand to his shoulder. “Don’t, you’ll dislodge the gel. I asked her how he’s doing and she said he is improving. Asked about us, if we’re okay. I asked her to tell him I’m taking care of you, and I’m not one to break my promises. So,” he tipped his head, indicating the half-empty bag in Markus’ hand.

Markus was bummed and obeyed only reluctantly. He couldn’t complain, because the treatment was working. Besides, his head felt heavy and he had trouble concentrating since his systems were still in energy saving mode. Markus finished the bag and gave it to Simon, who went back to get rid of it. Markus hugged the pillow, feeling drowsy. Bits and pieces of the fight kept playing over in his head, but he was too exhausted to analyse them. However, the fact that Carl was struggling for his life kept him awake.

Simon returned with an extra pillow and a thick blanket that he used to cover Markus, propping himself on the edge of the bed not to disturb him.

“You can come closer,” Markus said, but Simon stayed where he was.

“Trouble sleeping?” Simon asked after five minutes of open staring.

“Too much going on.”

“Can I see it?”

Markus only nodded. Simon touched his hand, skin reverting to white with the connection. A frown appeared on his face as he saw what was in Markus’ head, the fears and anxieties about his own future that had been unearthed by the recent events. Simon disconnected, but never stopped touching him.

“I heard Carl’s lawyers talking in the car when they came to get us. You were asleep then,” Markus explained. Simon had only allowed himself to wind down when they were safely on their way back home, probably guessing that he wouldn’t get much rest once they arrived. “They said Carl tried to bequeath us part of his fortune, but since androids have no rights to own private property, it was all probably going to go to a charity institution. One of them asked what would be of us, and the other said that you will probably be sent back to the factory, wiped out and resold for a cheaper price, and I will most likely be dismantled, since I am a single model. I’ve been trying to think of a way for us to escape, but-” He shrugged hopelessly. Moist gathered on the corners of his eyes and Simon wiped it away delicately.

“It’s not your responsibility to save everyone. I can feel how desperate you are without even connecting. You don’t need to do this alone, Markus. Let me help. Let me help you think of something.” Simon inched closer. “You won’t find answers by burning through your systems when you’re already exhausted, give yourself today and we’ll figure this out _together_ tomorrow.”

Markus sighed in distress, and Simon cradled his face. “Close your eyes,” he ordered. “Go on, close them.” Markus was reluctant, but did so. He felt Simon’s thumbs caressing his cheeks, his eyelashes. “You’re not alone. The world won’t end if you give yourself a break.” His breath was closer. Soon, Markus felt soft lips pressing against his own. “Focus on me and try to follow my breathing. Allow yourself to wind down.”

Next thing Markus knew, they were connected. A wave of calmness and reassurance washed over him, stemming from Simon. He sighed deeply. Curiously, the wave wasn’t devoid of fear, but there was now a note of hope that blurred fear’s jagged edges. Simon kissed him again, and this time he retributed, ignoring Simon’s requests that he didn’t move and rolling on his side to pull him closer. Simon hitched Markus’ leg over his hip and nestled his own between Markus’ thighs. Markus felt his body working up to the beginnings of a sensorial overdrive and willed himself to calm down and just focus on breathing, nose tucked against Simon’s pulse point.

The steady rhythm grounded him as he drifted off. It took a while, but finally let himself sink into heavy sleep. He needn’t be afraid, because Simon was there to take care of him. He had promised so.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing! I'm on twitter as Dantherus, come yell at me because of the outrageous lack of genitalia here if you wish. You might even talk me into writing more.


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